The invited guests arrived from the sparsely settled regions round about, not a few riding for a hundred miles over the hard trails.  The majority came early, arrayed in whatsoever apparel their limited wardrobes could supply, but ready for any wild frolic.  The men outnumbered the gentler sex five to one, but every feminine representative within a radius of about fifty miles, whose respectability could possibly pass muster before the investigations of a not too critical invitation committee, was present amid the throng, attired in all the finery procurable, and supremely and serenely happy in the assured consciousness that she would not lack partners whenever the enticing music began.

The gratified president of the Pleasure Club had occasion to expand his chest with just pride.  Jauntily twirling his silky mustaches, he pushed his way through the jostling, good-natured crowd already surging toward the entrance of the hall, and stepped briskly forth along the moonlit road toward the Herndon home, where the fair queen of the revels awaited his promised escort.  It was his hour of supreme triumph, and his head swam with the delicious intoxication of well-earned success, the plaudits of his admirers, and the fond anticipation of Miss Spencer’s undoubted surprise and gratitude.  His, therefore, was the step and bearing of a conqueror, of one whose cup was already filled to the brim, and running over with the joy of life.

The delay incident to the completion of an elaborate toilet, together with the seductive charms of a stroll through the moon-haunted night beneath the spell of bright eyes and whispered words, resulted in a later arrival at the scene of festivities than had been intended.  The great majority of the expected guests had already assembled, and were becoming somewhat restless.  No favored courtier ever escorted beloved queen with greater pride or ceremony than that with which Mr. Moffat led his blushing charge through the throng toward her chair of state.  The murmuring voices, the admiring eyes, the hush of expectancy, all contributed to warm the cockles of his heart and to color his face with the glow of victory.  Glancing at his companion, he saw her cheeks flushed, her head held proudly poised, her countenance evidencing the enjoyment of the moment, and he felt amply rewarded for the work which had produced so glorious a result.  A moment he bent above her chair, whispering one last word of compliment into the little ear which reddened at his bold speech, and feasting his ardent eyes upon the flushed and animated countenance.  The impatient crowd wondered at the nature of the coming ceremony, and Mr. Moffat strove to recall the opening words of his introductory address.

Suddenly his gaze settled upon one face amid the throng.  A moment of hesitation followed; then a quick whisper of excuse to the waiting divinity in the chair, and the perturbed president pressed his way toward the door.  Buck Mason stood there on guard, carelessly leaning against the post, his star of office gleaming beneath the light.